Cycle
by akaisherry47
Summary: An event that transpired sometime around the end of Clare and the deserters' seven-year vigil.


Disclaimer: I don't own the copyrights to Claymore and its characters.

Author's Notes: I had the idea for this Clare story saved up in a deep corner of my mind about a year and a half ago. During that time, I was avidly following the Claymore manga, but I couldn't put this story together in the form I initially had in mind, which was supposed to be longer and much broader than this. Flash-forward to the time I began writing this, my interest in Claymore has waned, but I suddenly had the urge to try making a short story, and I thought that the Clare story I had previously conceived was suitable for one, so I stripped the concept down and tried to make it as simple as I could and there you have it.

Written under Clare's perspective. I tried to make my choice of words a little more archaic to match Claymore's setting, but not too knightly. Also, I wasn't sure what genre this belongs to, so I put it under "crime", as it seemed the closest to it. Thank you for reading.

* * *

I've forgotten how long its been since I deserted the organization. Months... Years... It hardly matters. Not when I'm only biding my time, along with comrades who were left for dead in the battle for the North... Waiting for the day we finally rise from our graves and back to the surface... Waiting for the day we once again take up our swords and finally slash away the tethers of corruption the organization has bounded this land with... The same organization that spawned beings like us, neither truly human nor Yoma, to ensure that their false order is exercised.

But before we could begin our campaign, we must first complete the necessary preparations. I was tasked to procure information about what has been going on in the neighbouring countries from a source that, according to Miria, has been working with her for the past several years, in a mining town northwest of the holy city Rabona. I remember having visited this town before, but I might as well be mistaking it for another location. Towns are not all that different from each other. Brisk with people interacting and immersing in their respective livelihood, innocent of the truths happening behind the curtains that somehow manipulate their lives, oblivious of the looming war that will soon befall this whole town, and likely all the other towns. That aside, it feels nice to be away from the unsympathetic icy mountains of Pieta and bask under the sun's grace once more. The last time I felt such warmth, I was with Jean, a valiant warrior who, at the time, shared my vague notion that we were heading towards our own frozen graves up north, in a skirmish we had no chance of winning. Unfortunately, the sun never shined on her again after that.

I arrived town in the morning, under the guise of a cloaked drifter. My mission is to retrieve the notes from the town's post office located at the main square, where Miria's accomplice works. I have no intention of prolonging my stay and plan to leave on the same day, so I just walked continuously to my destination, letting the sights and the sounds flutter away with the wind and be forgotten like most of its kin.

As I cross a marketplace on my way to the square, a young boy rushes frantically towards me and bumps directly to my thigh, losing his balance. He carried a bag of bread that was toppled over during the collision. I crouched down and with my right hand I help him up and brush some dirt off his clothes. The boy was just about the same age as Raki when I first met him, and suddenly I was reminded of the promise I made with him. I wonder how Raki is right now. I know he's still alive, somewhere, and I could only hope he's in good hands, and that he stays well until I find him. As I was tending to him, the boy broke off me to collect the food that fell down, saving them from getting stepped on incidentally by an apathetic shopper. From the amount he carried, he must have at least three younger siblings waiting for him to return. To further my gesture, I decided to lend him a hand. Not a lot of people minded us while we gathered the bread. It was a typical marketplace scenario, one accidentally bumping into another and eventually deciding to helping each other up, but I sensed prying eyes shot directly at us ours unraveled. Nosy people. Particularly, I sensed the intent stares of a bread merchant two stalls away from where I faced, likely the one who sold this boy the bread, but when I turned to his direction he looked away as if he was only passing a trivial glance like most merchants would if they know its their product that got knocked over. When he was all set, the boy thanked me, even offering me a piece of bread. I refused the bread and instead gave him a tap in his left shoulder before returning to my own journey. As I was walking off, I heard the merchant call the boy over, offering to replace some of the bread that got sullied with street dirt for free. I didn't stay long enough to know for sure whether or not the boy accepted it.

When I finally reached the town square, I inadvertently insert myself in a commotion. I couldn't get through the crowd, but I only needed to weave together fragments of hearsay spreading amongst the townsfolk to get a good grasp of what was going on. From what I've gathered, it seems that the town has been invaded by a Yoma who has already blended in among the populace, and is preying on the defenceless under the cover of the night. A collector from the organization had just arrived and was finalizing a deal with the town's mayor to send a Claymore to hunt it down. Around that time I heard a stiff male voice shouting "I won't give you my daughter!" from inside the biggest establishment in the square where the crowd seems to be flocking. This situation, I've seen it unfold many times over, and in each and every one of those, the organization comes out the winner. A Claymore's services usually come at a hefty price, and if the client could not amass the required amount, the collector will then demand for a little girl as a retainer, otherwise the organization will leave the town to its impending doom. If the town could pay, then all is well. If they couldn't, but choose to comply with the alternative requisite, the organization adds another female warrior to their ranks. If a town gets decimated because they couldn't afford a Claymore, the tragedy will serve as an example to all other towns and cities, and future negotiations will be made easier. Its a corrupt cycle that has been going on long before I enlisted to pursue my true goal of vanquishing the one-horned monster who took everything away from me. A cycle that ultimately benefits only one entity. A cycle that has to be broken by any means necessary.

I walked away, refusing to hear the rest of the argument. Refusing to see the collector off, confident that his prospective client will cave sooner or later. Refusing to watch another young girl fear for her future, while her parents fear for her welfare, and her neighbours argue about their collective lives being more important than one girl's.

An hour later, after receiving the notes containing all the information Miria requested from the post office aide, I retraced my way out of the town. By then the commotion has digressed into people muttering rumours and opinions around. I passed along the mayor's office and saw the girl whose supposed to save this town by staking her very being. All those inauspicious glances directed at her told me of her identity. Now that word of her being selected by the collector has spread, I doubt the townsfolk would bother contributing to the necessary amount. Humans are just that fickle sometimes. The mayor's daughter was at the time sweeping along their house's front door. She was about as tall as I am, about the same age as I was when I first wielded my sword, with a fair, rounded face, brown hair that flowed elegantly down her shoulders, subtle nose and lips and a pair of restless green eyes that loudly spoke of her anxiety in having to hear the people she knew vouch for her to be sacrificed. She noticed me looking at her as I pass by and politely nodded at me. Likewise, I nodded back as I walked. I wanted to save her from the harsh fate that will be thrust upon her, and the only way I can accomplish that is by hunting the Yoma down myself. But then, taking this matter into my own hands will likely put our secret at risk of being discovered by our enemy. I can't just make a move without taking our cause into consideration, for an unprecedented action, even an act of kindness like what I have in mind could put it all in vain. Stepping farther and farther away from the poor girl, I heard a door open from behind me. From over my shoulder I saw her father, the mayor, emerge from their home and sternly urge her to come inside. No longer able to hold her calm front, she rushed into her father's arms and cried, voicing her anxiety over and over. The mayor hugs her back, consoling her, telling her that everything will be fine as any father would.

I looked away and sighed, instantly reminded that I was never truly the type who would fret over a consequence as petty as the organization finding out. That I was never bound by the organization's conducts to begin with, for a warrior's act of disobedience is what saved me, meld me into who I am now. And even if they did find out about me, they would only brush it aside, thinking that a warrior ranked 47th in a group of 47 couldn't possibly survive a battle that even single-digits were unable to survive. Also, I'd definitely regret it if I happen to cross swords with this girl in the future, which is why I must ensure that that future will never come to be. I must strike that Yoma down myself, but as a precautionary measure, I must wait until the collector leaves at nightfall.

I patrolled around town all afternoon, up until the sun turns in for the day, but I have not seen anybody acting suspiciously nor sensed any dark presence anywhere. But perhaps that's a good thing, as it can only mean that the Yoma has yet to attack, and that it keeps on its routine of attacking at night. When the night finally fell, I trained my efforts around the area where most of the homes are. Windows glowed from inside those homes as families prepare for supper. Some people are still out on the streets though. As much as possible, I wanted to do this without anyone noticing, but its probably not going to happen that peacefully. By now, the collector should be gone, and it will take the organization at least a day before they could send another out. Walking along a row of squarish stone homes, I bumped into that boy again, the one who dropped his bread, but not as aggressively this time. I was hoping to leave apathetically, but he easily recognized me, thus engaging me in a small conversation.

"Hey, you're that big sister from a while ago. Are you looking for a place to stay?" the boy asked innocently.

"...Something like that," I replied, putting up an amiable mask.

"Aww... I would love it if you stayed with us for the night, but our home isn't as big as the mayor's and its six of us staying there."

"That's alright... I'll find an inn. More importantly, why are you still out at this time?"

"My mom asked me to buy ingredients for tonight's supper."

"I see... In any case, I'll escort you back home. You never know when danger might present itself."

"Don't worry, my house is just behind you, on the first door to your left. If someone tries to go after me now, I can just run back inside and I'll be fine. Anyway, my uncle's running an inn nearby, and I'm sure he'd be very happy to tend to you."

While the boy cited directions to the inn he spoke of, I felt someone's presence spying on us from an alley about two houses away, much like at the marketplace earlier. This time however, it reeked of baleful intentions, and the faint, but distinct aura that only Yomas could have. The boy's words soon became muted, and my senses suddenly focused on that presence. I knew that the Yoma has his sights set on either me or the boy, and if its the boy he's after, I already have a clue as to who the Yoma might be. Feigning a calm demeanour, I thanked the boy and bid him a friendly tap on the top of his hair before we parted ways, me walking towards the direction he gave, and him taking the opposite way. I turned a corner that's blocked off from where the Yoma stood, and came across a young woodsman carrying logs of firewood bunched up by a rope and a broadaxe. Perfect. At least I don't have to go through the trouble of having to seek out a weapon that could take the place of my blade within a short amount of time. Hurriedly, I snatched the axe from him, saying "I'll borrow this for a minute" as I took to the roof, and quietly hopped from atop one house to another until I was able to get around the Yoma's whereabouts.

As I had predicted, I saw the merchant from earlier observing the boy's house from an alley two houses away from the boy's home, looking to have a feast. Judging from how brazenly he's expressing his ill intentions, he must have heard about the mayor's reluctance to pay and has lowered his guard considerably, assuming that a warrior has yet to be sent in here to take care of him. Too bad he wasn't expecting someone like me. He doesn't seem to be all that strong, and this axe I borrowed would probably be enough to slay him. Carefully, I jumped down from the ledge I was watching him on and crept slowly behind him. However, he took too long to realize that I stood near him that I had to personally call his attention out.

"I'd say it was quite smart of you... Picking out your prey based on the amount of bread they consume," I said, just loud enough to alert him.

"H-huh?!" he snaps at me, but later acts as if I only startled him. "W-what are you talking about? You're that drifter who helped that boy earlier... Well, I was just looking after the kid since he looked rather unhealthy..." He tried to convince me of his innocence, but I could sense him tensing up his right arm, preparing to strike me the moment I blink. I gave him what he wanted anyway and blinked, and as expected he forcibly flung his arm at me. But before his arm could graze the hood of my cloak, I have already slitted his throat with the axe, causing his arm to limp down along with the rest of his body, and his head to fall off his shoulders unceremoniously. His bile-coloured blood splattered across the wall going left, and on the spot where his headless body fell. "W-w-wait... Y-you're..." he tried to speak laboriously in his last breath, until he could no longer speak.

"The last thing you'll ever see..." I finished bitterly on his behalf. Just then, the young woodsman finds me holding his bloodied axe.

"There you are! H-hey, i-is that the-" The woodsman frightfully lost his footing and fell on his bottom when he saw the Yoma's severed head lay breathless before me, its expression frozen and distorted with disbelief. Before he could start alarming the neighbourhood, I seized him by the collar with my free hand, pulled him up and pinned him to a clean wall, while still holding the axe with the other.

"Yes, that's the Yoma that's been terrorizing your town. He was preying on a boy living around this area who has three siblings. You'd be smart to claim this hunt as yours, saying that you jumped him just as he was shedding away his guise."

"B-but..." He made a gesture of complete submission with his hands, so I released him. "But the townspeople... They might not believe that kind of story," he contested as he fixed his garb.

"Which is why I'm giving you this." I produced a small bottle from my waist pocket and tossed it to him. "Its water from Rabona, the holy city known for their ability to contain Yoma even without help from the Claymores. Their knights christen their weapons with that water, enabling them to hurt Yoma as a Claymore's broadsword would. Rabona isn't too far from this town, so its easy to say that you received it from a priest there. Douse your axe with that, and then this Yoma's remains to purge all the remaining youki away and you should be able to dispose of it safely."

"I see. That sounds very convincing, but... Who are you anyway? You don't seem like you're from Rabona... Wait, are you one of 'them'?"

"...'They' are not the only ones who can kill Yoma," I said as I handed the axe back to him. The woodsman followed my instruction to detail, purifying the axe first, then the body, then the head. Frankly, I'm not even sure if what I told him is true or not. Cid told Raki the exact same thing when he handed us a bottle of the holy water each before we left Rabona, and I only mentioned it to support the fabrication I'm imparting the woodsman with. But if its enough to try to break the organization's cycle of deceit and corruption and begin a new one where people believe they could protect the land they live and prosper in with their own strength, then perhaps I too should put more faith in it.

As I was about to set off on my journey back to the north, the woodsman halted me for a moment. "On behalf of this town and the mayor, I thank you," he said with grateful conviction.

"...Just try not to turn into a monster far worse than Yoma...," I told him without averting back. Those were the last words I spoke while I was in that town. Before sunrise could usher anew, I was gone.

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The End.

written by akaisherry47


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